Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Three: The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina

Before I get into the book review, apologies for my extended absence from this blog!  October is a very busy month in our extended family (FOUR birthdays, plus our anniversary), and somehow once Halloween is past, Thanksgiving and Christmas seem to be upon us in rapid succession.  But now that the rush is (mostly) past, I'm determined to get back to more regular posts in the new year (and the rest of this one).  So I'll start with a book I read right around Thanksgiving.

The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina by Zoraida Cordova is an enchanting work of magical realism that will appeal to fans of Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic and Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus.  The story begins when Orquídea, as an old woman, summons her many descendants back to the family home for one last visit before the moment she knows she will die.  When they arrive, they find that her death is not exactly to be a natural one: she is being slowly turned into an enormous tree.  There are clues that this transformation is due, in part, to some heretofore unmentioned enemy, and Orquídea's granddaughter Marimar, as well as two of her cousins and one of their children, whom Orquídea blesses by bestowing living flowers onto their bodies, are determined to seek out answers.  The story follows two timelines from there: Orquídea's past and her grandchildren's present.  Orquídea lived a rough childhood, and this is as much family saga as fantasy quest.  For a story based so much on people, the characters sometimes felt a little distant to me, but the plot was interesting enough to keep me eagerly reading, and I enjoyed how the pieces of the puzzle came together in the end.

Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Two: The Book of Eels

I heard about The Book of Eels: Our Enduring Fascination with the Most Mysterious Creature in the Natural World by Patrik Svensson from a patron at the library, and the title alone was enough to pique my interest.  Finally, at a loose end for an audiobook recently, I found that I'd made a note of this title and it was available to borrow, so I went for it.  I enjoyed some parts immensely, while others were distinctly off-putting.  Mostly the off-putting parts involved detailed descriptions of ways to kill an eel (luckily a minor part of the book) and occasionally ways they would ensnare themselves in fishing lines (also mercifully a small portion of the tale, though there is much eel fishing).  Possibly I was also a little discomfited because I could picture the movement of eels fairly well thanks to this weird article from the New York Times about moray eels (worth looking at for the captions to the photos, if nothing else).

The most wonderful parts reminded me of H Is for Hawk by  Helen Macdonald, which I enjoyed thoroughly about five years ago; that is to say, sometimes The Book of Eels offered a marvelous combination of fascinating facts about eels with moving nature descriptions and deeply-felt personal history, mostly of the author as a child with his father.  Eels are enigmatic creatures, unwilling to yield their secrets to researchers, despite their ongoing efforts, which adds to their allure.  The Book of Eels offers a brief glimpse into their world.

Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-One: How To Prepare for Climate Change

I listened to the audiobook of David Pogue's surprisingly funny manual, How To Prepare for Climate Change after hearing that he'll be the keynote speaker for the Massachusetts Library System's climate prep week events later this month.  I had cataloged the print book a little while back and was both intrigued (because it seems like it will be relevant) and put off.  (Shouldn't we be busy trying to slow climate change rather than preparing for its effects?  In fact, Pogue says, we should all do both, but this book is more about preparing.)  

While a few parts were downright frightening to consider, it actually didn't leave me feeling worse than I generally do about the future of the world (an admittedly low bar, but still), and some parts even made me feel mildly hopeful.  In fact, one of the later chapters in the book is about the importance of maintaining some level of hope in the future, otherwise depression is likely, and depression is the enemy of accomplishing most things, like mitigating one's own environmental impact as well as preparing for the effects of climate change that are, at this point, inevitable.  (Really, it's a funny book at times, or at least the audiobook has its moments of humor, albeit often slightly dark humor.)

Whether or not you want to read this book, I can guarantee some parts of it will be relevant to you, if not now, then soon.  That being said, most of the content won't be directly relevant to most readers (Who lives in an area prone to both wildfires and hurricanes, for example?  Is there such a place?), so this is a title that, unless you've got a deep interest in the subject, I'd suggest getting in print form (not e-book or audio) so you can skim through to the parts that are relevant.  Maybe you're interested in investing your money in climate-responsible ways--check out just that chapter!  Or maybe you don't have any investments but want to know how to prepare your home for flooding.  (Did you know home insurance almost never includes flood damage?  Pogue has a chapter on insurance, too.)  All of this is to say, I think everyone will benefit in some way from reading at least parts of How To Prepare for Climate Change, and this guide makes a huge and scary topic more accessible and manageable.

Chapter Two Hundred and Sixty: Malice

I'd read a review of Heather Walter's debut novel, Malice, a few months ago, and I was excited when the library's e-book became available to me.  While the writing and relationships ended up being a bit more predictable than I liked (and not because it's part one of a reimagining of Sleeping Beauty), the premise and world-building were interesting enough to keep me reading until the end.  I was particularly intrigued by how magic works in the world created here; it seems to be not so much inherited as inherent in everything, though only some have the ability to manipulate it, which can be a curse as much as a blessing.  It's not the most subtle read, but if you want a modern fantasy with a dash of romance and plenty of angst, Malice provides admirably.

Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Nine: A Memory Called Empire AND A Desolation Called Peace

Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Eight: Unorthodox

I've been reading a lot of fiction lately, and I decided I was in the mood for a change, so I looked in Libby for a non-fiction book that was both available now and interesting.  Deborah Feldman's memoir of leaving the Satmar Hasidic Jewish community was the answer.  It's a fascinating look inside a pocket of life in the U.S. of which I was pretty much unaware.  If you liked Tara Westover's Educated, you'll be interested in Unorthodox.  You know from early on that both women left their insular religious communities; the interest in their stories is in both how they left and in the inside look at the communities they had been a part of.  Plus, there's a Netflix miniseries based on Unorthodox, which maybe I'll watch at some point.  Feldman also wrote a second memoir, Exodus, which picks up (I think) where Unorthodox leaves off.  I'll definitely be interested in reading it at some point, though Unorthodox was a very intense read, so I'm ready for a break back into fiction for the moment.  But I'd highly recommend this book.

Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Seven: Broken (in the Best Possible Way)

I was so excited a few months back when I learned that Jenny Lawson (known on the Internet as The Bloggess) had a new essay collection coming out this spring, and it did not disappoint!  I listened to the audiobook--read by the author--and it was so good that I actually looked forward to my commute.  If you're unfamiliar with Jenny Lawson, I would describe her writing as in the vein of David Sedaris, particularly in her ability to find humor in the everyday, but with more of a focus on mental and physical health.  

Anyway, Broken (in the Best Possible Way) has everything I've come to expect and enjoy from Jenny Lawson's books: a look at life from someone else's (very funny) perspective, a look at a variety of mental health issues that I'm not super familiar with, a good helping of weird animal stories (but not the kind of animal stories where your heart gets broken), and a heaping dose of earnest quirkiness.  If you have a sense of humor at all, or if you enjoy personal essays, this is a book worth checking out.